What We Shared
by Akai-neechan
Summary: The First head of the Vongola and his first friend and later, first Guardian shared a lot through their lives. And since there's a first time for everything... /Could be read as a collection of drabbles, NO pairings, G and Giotto centered/
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Ok, so this is the story of Primo and his right hand man, told by the many firsts they shared in their time. NO PAIRINGS (can you believe that?), only friendship, trust and loyalty bordering with obsession. __These started as random drabbles about a few random firsts, but then they grew into a full out summery of what I think happened to them, and so here you have it. You can read it as random drabbles, if you prefer, though xD_

_Just to mention, I never read the Simon ark in the manga, so this little collection overlooks it at the most parts, but I have a good enough idea to know what's going on in it to keep in mind and not stray too far. _

_The first are chronologically ordered and after a ideas kept appearing one after the other, I decided I'd honor the tri-ni-sette and make them 21. Here's your first 7 parts x) They're all concentrated around G and Giotto with mentions and short appearances of the other Guardians from time to time. I initially intended to make them concentrate equally on both of them, but as things happened G took control of almost all of them and I realized I still don't know Giotto enough to write him well. _

_Oh, well, here you go, and please review!_

**First game**

"What are you doing?"

His eyes fell on the boy and were met with a smile as wide as the sky, eyes glistering with the orange glow of a summer sunset.

"I'm playing, what does it look like?" It looked wet and dirty and cold in the falling rain but with his drenched hair sticking to his face the boy still jumped all around and twirled in the never ending downpour and G couldn't help but think it looked fun. "Want to join?"

Red eyes widened at the words because no one ever invited or wanted him to play, because that was what it was like to be the son of the boss. He clenched his fists in annoyance but then he saw that free smile again and he nodded and he threw away his jacked and jumped into the rain and mud and laughter and Giotto and he wondered how he could have missed this for the last eight years of his life.

**First choice**

He ran and ran and ran as fast as his feet could carry him and then faster still. And it hurt and it hurt and it hurt so much that he couldn't keep his tears at bay and he scrubbed at his face to dry them but they had been sucked into the bandages already and there was nothing he could do about it.

And it was hard and cold and unfair and he was only ten years old and he didn't want this.

So he ran and didn't stop, because even if he abandoned the Famiglia that had caused him this, there was still that one place he could go. And he stopped running and he crashed into the door and he hit it again and again and again until it opened and then he threw himself into the other boy and cried.

"I don't want this! I don't want this anymore!"

And Giotto held him tightly, embraced him with his weak hands and just stood there and watched him break under the heavy expectations and the burden that wasn't fit to be carried by the small frame. And he stood there and waited until the tears dried away and G kept whispering "It hurts. It hurts." like a never ending mantra and Giotto could only guess it referred to the bandages on his face and neck and feared what would lay beneath.

And then he tightened his hold around the other boy and he said with determination burning in his eyes: "You don't have to go back there!"

And G looked at his face and kept looking for the longest while and then he nodded and that damned Famiglia never got the heir they wanted so much.

**First dream**

They had both been young and stupid and idealistic, well at least one of them had been, when they sat down that night, back to back and spoke about fleeting nightmares and _dreams_ and a happily ever after that the world would never allow them, but they'd still struggle towards. And then Giotto would push against his back just a little bit more and he'd drop his head until it rested on his bowed one and he'd laugh loud and clear and beautiful and the sound would scatter around him like broken glass and leave scars in his heart and soul and he'd never again forget the hope shared that night.

**First mistake**

It was a common mistake, really, at least concerning the people he was acquainted with. It was the mistake of looking into those sky deep eyes and letting the enthusiasm swallow you, it was the mistake of raking your eyes over that bright smile and letting it tear you apart piece by piece and put you back in any way it wanted.

Well, the actual mistake wasn't that, it was the fact that no one could say no to that face, to those sparkling eyes and that maddening smile. And he found himself unable to say no just like that.

"Let's form a vigilante group."

Yes, sure, of course, whatever you say.

And he agreed, even when he knew they were digging their own grave. And it was going to be a hard, long, painful process and it was going to be more of a tomb than a grave, high and beautiful and majestic, but it was still going to hold their cold dead bodies in a vice grip and lock them within for all eternity.

**First scar**

It was bleeding. His shirt was covered in the blood, the white fabric painted a dark crimson-black and dripping on the ground with every step. _It isn't half as bad as it looks_, though, he kept repeating, as he pressed a hand against his throbbing side and tried not to flinch at the pain.

And Giotto couldn't help but look away from his friend and feel the guilt build in his chest even as G kept repeating those words.

How _it isn't as bad as it looks_, despite the fact that he was pale as a sheet. How _it isn't something that Knuckle bastard can't heal easily_, even though his breaths were coming in short shallow gasps. _How it is nothing but a scratch_, even though he didn't have the strength to lift the lighted cigar to his lips anymore.

And maybe it wasn't that bad and maybe it wasn't life threatening, but Giotto still flinched at the memory of how deep the knife had dug into his friend's side and couldn't help but _think_.

Even if it wasn't that bad, it would still leave a nasty scar.

**First kill**

The shot rang in the room and suddenly all was silent safe for the body crumbling to the ground. And just as G was about to say something, to stop him from doing it, Giotto turned. He twirled around so fast that his mantle waved behind him and then suddenly froze in place, stunned, terrified.

The moment he had pulled the trigger, G had been prepared, but Giotto never was. And he saw the shock and the denial and the horror flashing through his friend's face and he knew that the gruesome sight wasn't one meant for him.

So he moved, swift and soundless like he'd learned he had to in order to survive in this world, and he slipped one hand over those pain filled orange eyes and obscured the blood and the gore from his view. And he felt a shaking hand reach up to cup his fingers and saw the tears that slipped through them, yet he said nothing, standing as silent support for his friend.

**First flame**

He didn't waste a moment, turning this way and that, bullets flying like birds with a will of their own, taking down one enemy after the other and in the mids of it all there was not time to take a breath, no time to even think about being tired, no time to consider resting and mending the damage to his own body.

And then in the darkness of death that hanged around them a single flame flicked to life and stopped the struggle and stopped time itself as it burned with fierce determination and excruciating resolve. And as G stood there, frozen in place by the beauty and power and glory of the orange flame burning on his friend's forehead he felt like he had never seen anything as damned beautiful as it.

And G let it illuminate his way as he sprung back into action, any thought of weariness washed away from his body and burned in that lively flame, and he pushed and shoved and shot and killed and struggled forward with the sole determination to live long enough to see that flame time and time again.


	2. Chapter 2

**First present**

"You wanted to see me, Primo?" He still had stacks of papers to look through but he'd be damned if he overlooked his friend's call for them. The warm eyes that moved up to meet his, only making him even more certain in his decision.

"Indeed," a soft smile played with his lips as he stood from his place behind the desk. "I wanted to give you something, G."

And he raised a brow and waited, only half nervous because he would never forget the pain he had endured the last time someone had given him something, and neither could he ever get rid of the motives etched into his face no matter how many years passed.

Yet despite of the smallest bit of uneasiness, he found himself trusting his companion and waiting patiently as he took a long box and presented it.

"To be continuously at the heart of the attack, the furious Storm that never rests," Giotto spoke as he flipped the locks of the heavy wooden box. "That is your position as my Guardian of Storm." The orange eyes moved up to his and he met them evenly, relishing in that familiar sensation that made him think he was staring into the endless sky. "Yet I am aware how much you dislike the smell of gunpowder, my friend."

And so the lid was pulled and red eyes traveled down, studying and committing to memory every detail of the expertly crafted weapon that was presented to him and he couldn't help the thrill that ran through him at the thought of heading in battle holding it.

"So, please, accept this gift from me."

**First attempt**

The bastards deserved to die a slow, painful death, G thought and regretted not being able to give them one. Yet he never considered leaving his position even for a moment, not with Giotto pushed underneath him as safe as he could be in the rain of bullets that was falling heavily around them. With all of the commotion, the Primo could have ended up shot down by the crossfire instead of the short that had been meant for him.

And, damn it all, G had nearly missed it this time and he was going to beat himself over it for a long while after it was all over. Using illusions was cowardly, but certainly effective and it had almost been too effective. Almost, because if Giotto's intuition had sparked just a second later, if G hadn't been looking at his face when his eyes widened, if he hadn't been standing right next to him and alert and ready, it would have been late.

And so he threw himself over his best friend he felt the bullet whistle next to his ear and his heart stopped with the 'what if' for that one second before all hell broke loose. And even now that he could easily tell the telltale sound of a sword being drown and the shooters falling one after the other, he didn't move.

"G," He lifted himself ever so slightly to be able to gaze at the man he was shielding and grant him at least half his attention – because he had to be ready to roll them away if the bullets finally broke through their cover. "May I be allowed to move now?"

"Not until they're buried."

**First shelter**

He was groggy and tired and covered in blood, albeit none of it his own, and he reeked of sweat and death and smoke even though he had finished his last cigar in the middle of the mission and his every nerve was twitching for the feel on nicotine filling his lungs. Yet he pushed forward a little bit more, made the conscious effort to take those extra ten steps to Giotto's office.

And he pushed the door opened and felt the warmth of the fireplace welcome him as he kicked it shut behind him and offhandedly threw himself in the fluffy couch. And, for once, it would be a lie to say that Ugetsu's music was annoying because even if he would never admit it, it felt familiar and refreshing.

And he closed his eyes and released a deep breath and let the exhaustion of his week-long assignment be washed away and the memory of cold dead bodies lying every which way leave his mind and like rainwater running down the gutter.

So when the pillows shifted a little while later he finally found the strength to lift his heavy lids and look at the soft smile that resembled home and take the offered smoke with gratitude.

"Welcome back," Giotto smiled down on him as he lit and inhaled and finally there was nothing to complain about.

And he offered his friend a rare, honest smile and turned his head to blow the smoke away from him before closing his eyes in bliss. Because it didn't matter how long and annoying and excruciatingly exhausting the missions were, once he was back to this little piece of warm, calm, relaxing heaven, it was all fine.

**First nightmare**

It wasn't that all of his dreams were fairytalish and colorful and covered with sugary icing. It wasn't as if he even remembered most of what he dreamt about because he had many more things to worry about with Giotto and the Vongola and real life. And it wasn't like those same dreams weren't dyed red every so often and so gruesome that most people wouldn't be able to keep their dinner down, but for G _that_ was the real life he was used to and they didn't matter.

What did matter thought was that night when he snapped his eyes opened in shock and terror and horror and he was out of his bed in an instant and running and crashing into cupboards and titling paintings all along his way to the room down the hall and tearing the door down to finally find his breathing again when he saw Giotto startling at the sound and sitting up in bed and staring at him in wonder and so alive it was hard to believe.

Because this living, moving, breathing Giotto was so different from the cold and pale and sososo dead Giotto he had just seen and he could feel his heart drumming in his throat and he could hardly breathe around it and he clenched the frame of the door to keep himself standing and tried to convince himself that the corpse lying in the hands of the friend turned foe wasn't real, that this was real and that he wasn't late and that damn bastard hadn't-

"G…"

And that voice snapped him out of his own personal hell and he looked up to the eyes alight with life and tried to erase the empty voids he had seen in the nightmare and suddenly he was sliding down until he sat leaning against the doorframe and holding his head with both hands.

"It's alright," he breathed and tried to stop his voice from breaking and realized he was feeling sick to his stomach and cursed the fact that a stupid nightmare could reduce him to this. "It was just a dream."

"If you would like to speak about it?" The simple invitation was spoken with a warm smile and he couldn't help the wave of relief seeing it brought.

"No need," he took a deep breath and found it actually reached his lungs this time and managed to get himself back to his feet, shaking as they were. "I'm sorry for intruding, Giotto. Goodnight."

He eyed the soft nod he was presented with and let his gaze linger just a moment more before stepping back and closing the door softly. And even as he assured himself that his friend was alive, G spent that and many other sleepless nights sitting in front of his door, smoking.

**First fight**

"I insist you rethink this!" His voice was loud, louder than it had ever been before, almost to the level of screaming but not just quite there yet. His red eyes were burning, hands slammed on the desk as he was met with an even yet somehow detached look from those always warm orange eyes.

"There is nothing to rethink. The decision has been made," and it was said with certainty and left no place for argument, but argue G would, until the end of the world if he had to.

He had bowed his head four times in defeat, accepting one lunatic after the other with the exceptional speed at which Giotto managed to throw them at him. And, yes, he would admit that Ugetsu wasn't half as tone deaf as he accused him of being, that Knuckle's enthusiasm sometimes had even his blood boiling with thrill, that Lampo served for a good punching bag given the chance and that even Alaude's skill was an asset to the Famiglia as much as he hated it, but this, _this_ _had_ to be wrong.

"I won't accept this!" G outright yelled and he saw something close to anger flash in the never faltering gaze and Primo's lips were pushed in a thin line.

"Why do you not trust my judgment?" It was meant as a blow he knew, and he raged to know that his friend would bring this up but the storm that pushed him forward wasn't anywhere close to dying right now.

"I trust you perfectly well, I don't trust that-"

"Daemon will become the Guardian of Mist, and as such I would appreciate it if you would act accord-"

"Fuck Spade and fuck his position," and he was screaming at the top of his lungs and he even noticed Ugetsu's astounded expression and that must mean that he _actually_ just interrupted Primo and that he was _actually_ currently throwing curses towards what was to become the newest part of their Family. "If you think that I will stand that goddamn good for no-"

He was interrupted by Giotto's sudden rising as he stood and somehow, shorter as he was, he still managed to stare him down. Primo rested his hands firmly of top of his desk in a much calmer manner than his own and his voice held authority as he spoke.

"That is my decision as Vongola Primo and it is final."

And G raged and he was this close to punching him straight in that unmarked face and shaking him by the collar and screaming at him to get a grip and face reality and _don't you see I'm doing this for your sake_ but he took deep breaths and he forced himself to turn on his heels and speed towards the door before he lost it and actually did it.

"G!"

"He's going to ruin you!" His voice was as sharp as his arrows and the burning in his eyes as unforgiving as his Storm Flame as he glanced over one shoulder and glare at his friend. "And you better pray to God I'm wrong this time, Giotto."

And with those final words he left the room, shutting the door with such strength that he saw cracks running up the wall.

**First apology**

He stood there, facing the door and uncertain of what he should do. Giotto suppressed a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair and clenched his eyes fighting the upcoming migraine. He couldn't leave things like that, not after the first fight they had ever had was as serious as that. G had never before opposed him in a similar matter, there had to be a reason for the man to do it now, certainly.

Or, at least, one of them had to man up and admit he was wrong. And as the Primo, it was his duty to keep the Family together. So he reasoned and as he gave his right hand man a few hours to blow off steam, he followed the destruction to G's bedroom and found himself nervous and uncertain.

"You're annoying," the voice came muffled by the door. "Either get in of go away."

With an unsuppressed sigh –of course he knew he was there, he wasn't his Guardian for nothing- Giotto pushed the handle and stepped trying not to scowl at the smoke-filled room. G was leaning against the closed window facing the outside and smoking like it was the only thing he could do.

"Listen, G," he began carefully looking for the right words.

"Do whatever you want." Orange eyes blinked in alarm at being interrupted again.

"Pardon?"

"If you want him that much, you can have him," the burnt smoke was smashed mercilessly and his friend turned to him with a displeased look on his face. "But don't expect me to trust him. I'm not leaving that bastard alone with you in the same room," he continued with narrowed red eyes and crossed arms. "And when he turns to stab you in the back, there will be an 'I told you so'."

Surprised Giotto studied the other's face for a moment longer, before a warm smile spread over his face.

"Thank you, G."

His friend released a 'che' as he scratched his head in annoyance and sighed before giving up and dropping the angry scowl, replacing it with a worried look.

"Just don't try that authority shit on me anymore. I don't want to feel like strangling you any time soon." And in the softening look on his face, Primo saw the regret and apology that would never quite be voiced, yet was passed on just as well.

"My apologies. I went too far."

"Don't sweat it," and the smirk was back and everything was like it was supposed to be. "So how are you going to keep the ass from slitting your throat?"

**First storm**

Thunder crashed outside but the eye of the storm was locked between two doors, four walls, one ceiling and numerous corpses. His flames burned brighter than ever with the thought of Giotto suffering from poison-induced fever and those now-corpses smirking and laughing and gloating.

And his bullets flew with the speed of light and necks were snapped and blood bled and it was all red before his eyes and he didn't know where the damn power came from but it was good and it was enough and it was what he wanted.

And as the other guardians struggled to find a cure, a way to save their Primo, he raged alone and determined and a hurricane would have been more generous than the destruction he left behind.

And Giotto would ask later and he would look away knowing how much his friend hated destruction and death, but that was something irrelevant at the moment.

All that mattered was the unforgiving storm that raged within his heart.


	3. Chapter 3

**First loss**

Lampo sat to the side, shaking with fear trying to hold himself together with thin hands. Ugetsu had one hand rested on his shoulder, his other clenched painfully over the hilt of his katana. Knuckle was long since lost in the crowd to help with the burials and lead the souls to their rightful place. And as he sat back and tightened the tattered remains of his shirt over his still bleeding wounds, G scanned the area for his old friend.

And he found him, standing at the edge of the crowd and overlooking the bloody sunset. And for once he looked tired and worn out from it all and fragile and almost broken and his frame was hidden in the mantle like a child escaping from the world and his head was bowed so that sun kissed tresses hid his face.

And as G struggled to stand up and once again thought through all the casualties of their last struggle, he realized that a victory like this was nothing short of a complete loss for them.

**First breakdown**

"What are we doing?"

Red eyes rose from the papers he had been reading and explored the darkened orbs of his friend. G wasn't surprised to see the other's shoulders slumped, fingers running through unruly tresses, face distorted in anguish and broken hope, tears pooling under tightly clasped eyelashes. He had been expecting this ever since that first kill. Ever since this crazy idea even bloomed in Giotto's mind.

He had known that one day the high expectations for his Vongola would crumble and within the ruins he'd see the tremendously powerful evil they had created. He had known and he had prepared a million words for this one day, not ones of sympathy but scolding and accusing, harsh words, words of lacking consistency and responsibility.

Yet as he sat there across from his friend and as he saw him pulling at his hair and bowing his head helplessly, as he noticed his body shaking with suppressed sobs and the pain of his broken dreams, he found all of those words meaningless and empty and he wanted nothing but to throw the Vongola they had created to the ground and stomp on it and crush it in the dirt and forget all of it ever existed.

And he reached forward and he took those hands and the tear streaked face turned to look at him and he clenched the fingers he held onto and whispered:

"Let's stop."

**First realization**

And it was only minutes after that first breakdown that Giotto called his remaining guardians and announced his decision to them sitting behind his desk with the ear of determination heavy around him.

And it was only at that moment that G realized that he was the only one allowed to see that breakdown and that his friend would not ask for the rest before he was done crying and collected and calm and capable of presenting himself with that same certainty that he always had.

And it was strange as the Storm thought back to his own breakdown that had been buried years back into their past and he felt a strange kind of warmth spread thought his chest as he remembered the trust one must feel to show such weakness to another.

And even as Ugetsu stammered in shock and Knuckle screamed and Lampo whined and Alaude stood back and Spade chuckled –the asshole had the nerve to chuckle, oh how G wanted to shoot him right then and there- he found himself unable to suppress the small smile so different from his usual smirks. And then unexpectedly sunrise colored eyes fell on his and filled with understanding and he was rewarded a heartwarming smile back and he knew that even if they had to circle the world and leave their life behind, he wouldn't mind as long as he was on his friend's side.

**First betrayal **

It was hard and painful and there _was_ the promised 'I told you so', but G still hurt as much as his friend for being unable to prevent it and he still stood hidden in the shadows of the cabin and watched Giotto sit quietly in the seat next to the hatch and breathe in the salty air. And in his mind he counted all of those who had followed their Primo and simultaneously rejoiced and mourned over the one who hadn't.

And even as all of them were scattered around the big ship, separated and uncertain of what tomorrow might hold for them in that distant and unfamiliar land –because it couldn't be all smiles and long hair and flutes and katanas like Ugetsu- and as they looked back upon happy memories of a Family that meant more than life itself, he knew that no warnings and preparations could have them ready for what had happened.

And no 'I told you so's were going to do anything anymore. And with no place and no home to go back to, they would have to struggle once more and hope that this time they will not be running head first into a solid wall like they had done once. So he turned one tired eye towards his friend's sorrowful frame and then threw himself onto the bed, wanting nothing more but to finally drop anchor and set foot on solid ground, because this waiting was eating at him as much as it was at all of them and he couldn't stand it.

**Firt change**

"Sawada Ieyasu," G repeated, gaze unmoving from his friend's sunset light eyes. The name sounded strange, foreign and it felt and tasted wrong on his lips. It was one that spoke in the language of a country they had just stepped on, one that was heavy with undiscovered culture and a distant moral they had no grasp of. It was the name of a stranger.

Not the name of his friend.

"Sawada Ieyasu," he repeated and ran a hand through his hair. He spilled the syllables one after the other, slowly, carefully, trying to get used to it, trying to find the familiarity, the warmth, trying to find Giotto in it and it was just wrong and distant and unfamiliar and nothing he could ever relate to his friend.

So he repeated it time and time again, trying to shape the name and get used to it, trying to chase away his accent and speak it as easily as Ugetsu did. He repeated it over and over and over and struggled to find the one connection that would help him understand and accept and acknowledge.

And then, suddenly, it came to him, It was as fast as a bullet and it crashed into his mind and sent everything into order.

'Ie', he remembered vaguely from one of his old studying sessions with Ugetsu, meant 'home' in this unfamiliar tongue. And home was warm and inviting and a place to return to, Giotto was all home had ever been to him.

And he looked up into those eyes and that smile -that was finally starting to reappear and he was so so so glad Gi- Ieyasu was getting over it- and he found the hint of understanding and the flash of amusement written in the sky deep orbs, and finally, G understood and accepted.

**First happiness**

He chewed on the end of his unlit cigar and wondered whether he should really try and stop smoking now that he had an actual reason. It was a reason for all of them to be cautious in many ways, yet it was one that filled his heart with happiness.

It was amazing how such a little thing could do.

Everyone moved slowly and quietly around him, even Knuckle didn't raise his voice above a whisper and he wished for it to be blessed by god. Even Lampo moved quietly and looked tamed as he murmured something about finding real love. And even when Alaude appeared, -actually appeared- _quiet__as__a__ghost_ and murmured a 'Grow strong' over the small bundle and disappeared in the same manner. And even after his wish for happiness, Ugetsu rose gracefully to his feet and moved back _silently_.

G's eyes fell on the two sleeping figures. She looked pale and exhausted but happy, so very happy, in her sleep. He looked fragile and breakable but safe and content and how else could a newborn look in the hands of its father?

And red eyes rose from the bundle and locked with sky deep orange orbs and smiles cracked on both the faces and he pushed the unlit smoke in his pocket and moved the couple of feet until he was kneeling before his sitting friend. And he bent down and ran a hand lightly over the baby's short hair and laid a tender kiss on its forehead before looking over it for a moment and then spoke, in soft hardly audible words, what both he and Ieyasu wished with both their hearts.

"May you never step foot into that world."

And from the corner of his eyes he watched his friend's face for even the slightest flash of pain or hurt or betrayal, but there was none. And he looked up to eyes hardened with determination and orange flames licking at them as Ieyasu spoke a definite "He won't" and they both believed it.

**First death**

The life of the Mafia was one they could not escape and G knew it, had known it ever since he was ten years old and running away from his Famiglia, yet he still tried again and again until no hope was left to push him forward and no life to aim towards.

So even as all hell broke loose in Japan long after their retirement, he had been prepared and ready to pull the trigger again, to stretch the bow string and to fight for their freedom all over.

Yet ever since he was a small child, crying from the pain brought by the symbol of those chains forced on him, he had known there was no running away and that he would lose his life trying. Yet as he lay there in a puddle of his own blood no longer feeling the pain in his chest, no longer hearing the cries of his friends, no longer tasting the iron and the bile on his tongue, he didn't regret one moment of his run.

So he just let himself be swept off the dirt he lay in and opened his eyes and heart and soul towards the overseeing sky and let it embrace him with its might and glory and knew that his death would not be in vain if it let _his_ Sky push on even a little further down the road to happiness.


End file.
